


Splinter - Alternate Ending

by AVAAntares



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe, Fix-It, M/M, Romance, Sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-23 10:23:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9651758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AVAAntares/pseuds/AVAAntares
Summary: The alternate-universe coda to my story Splinter. Several readers expressed interest in a CoE fix-it resolution, rather than the original canon-compliant one. So by popular demand, here's a sugar-coated fluff epilogue, guaranteed to rot your teeth and purge any lingering angst!This story does NOT stand alone. It picks up at the last line of Splinter and continues the scene already in progress, so please read that story first!





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Splinter](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9415802) by [AVAAntares](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AVAAntares/pseuds/AVAAntares). 



> PLEASE TAKE NOTE: This is not a stand-alone story; it picks up during the final scene of Splinter. It can be read either as a direct continuation of that story, or as taking place in an alternate timeline fragmented off by the Trickster’s meddling, depending on how you feel about canon. :)

“Yes,” Jack said. “That’s _everything_ that matters.”

Sarah Jane touched his hand, and they shared a moment of silent understanding until the harsh wind returned, bringing with it the patter of raindrops. Sarah Jane reluctantly shifted away. “I should go,” she said softly. “I have a long drive back to London. I told Luke I’d be home tonight.”

“Luke?”

“My son. Next time you’re in London, give me a call, and I’ll introduce you. Luke would love to meet you.” Jack raised an eyebrow, and Sarah Jane swatted his arm playfully. “I don’t mean it like that. He’s too young for you, anyhow.”

“Only for the time being.” Jack winked, then laughed at her scowl and pulled her back for a hug. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Sarah Jane moved her arms to return the embrace, but froze as a high-pitched chirp sounded. She pulled back and glanced at her watch. “That’s odd. I thought the alien readings had disappeared.” She opened the device and checked the display. “This is picking up some kind of energy.”

Jack opened the leather face of his wrist strap and toggled through readings. “I’m not getting anything at all. What kind of energy?”

Sarah Jane adjusted a dial. “Judging by the frequency, I’d say it’s reading a high concentration of artron energy somewhere nearby.”

“Oh. That explains it; I have mine zeroed out.” Jack shrugged apologetically. “I radiate artron energy. It probably just picked up the fallout from being near me.”

She shook her head. “No, it’s detecting you, too, but this seems to be a separate source. And… it looks like there may be faint traces of tachyon particles.” She frowned. “That’s unusual. Those didn’t come with you, did they?”

“Not unless the Trickster left them behind from our little jaunt. But he’s kind of allergic to artron energy, so that wouldn’t explain both forms of energy being in the same place.”

Jack adjusted settings on his wrist strap, and they moved around the cemetery to triangulate the source, but each time their search led them right back to where they had been standing. “But there’s nothing here,” Sarah Jane said. “At least, not that we can see.”

“Maybe it’s atmospheric.” Jack held his device aloft for a few seconds, checked the readings, then crouched low to the ground. “Interesting.”

“What?”

“It’s stronger down here.”

Sarah Jane bent to join him and confirmed the readings with her own device. “But what could be giving off…” Her eyes slipped past their hands to the gravestone beside them.

Jack followed her gaze, and his jaw tightened. “It could be,” he said quietly. “Ianto was definitely exposed to artron energy at one point.”

“Jack, these levels are far too high to account for casual exposure. And tachyon radiation is rare. It’s only created—”

“When a universe splits. I know.” Jack sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Maybe something was buried with him. Alien tech in his system, or something.”

“You didn’t scan for that after he…?”

Jack looked away. “I didn’t bury him. UNIT took charge of the bodies, after… what happened.”

She looked at him with open curiosity, but was gracious enough not to pry. “UNIT has deeply-entrenched containment protocols, so it’s likely they would have checked for alien devices before releasing him to his family.”

“So we have no way of knowing what’s giving off the energy. Not without…” He bit his lip.

“Jack, it’s not worth that,” Sarah Jane said gently. “Let it go.”

“Can I?” His eyes were fixed on the polished granite. “What if it’s important? After everything I’ve just been through with the Trickster, I can’t ignore mysterious energy signatures. That was our only warning sign, before. What if it means something has changed in the timeline?”

“Notify UNIT, then. Have them investigate, but don’t do it yourself.” She touched his sleeve. “You don’t really want to open his grave, Jack. Don’t taint your memories of him.”

Jack was still staring at the carved name, unblinking. “In the Trickster’s alternate timeline, Ianto’s body died, but he remained conscious for days afterward.”

Sarah Jane’s jaw fell open. “What?”

“If something like that could happen…” He shook his head, finally tearing his eyes away from the stone. “I have to find out. I have to check.”

“Jack, he died…” She checked the dates on the gravestone. “Three years ago. He can’t possibly be alive after all this time. Whatever you find in there will only haunt you.”

Jack met her gaze levelly. “I’ve been buried alive. I spent _eighteen hundred years_ suffocating to death underground. Believe me, whatever I find in there won’t haunt me half as much as the thought that he might be experiencing the same thing.” He turned back to the stone, and this time traced his fingers over the cold granite. “If there’s even a sliver of a chance that something could have changed, I need to know.”

Raindrops pelted their faces, and Sarah Jane sighed as she wiped her forehead with a sleeve. “I suppose I can’t stop you, if you’re committed. Is there anything you’d like me to do? Call UNIT, or contact the family?”

Jack glanced around the empty cemetery. “Help me find a shovel?”

* * *

“So you just… dug up the grave? By yourself?”

Jack nodded and took a sip from his mug. “Getting proper clearance to exhume a body takes a long time. I didn’t want to wait. I mean, what if you _had_ been suffocating down there?”

Ianto shook his head. “I’m not sure even you could dig that fast, Jack.” He made an attempt at lifting his own mug, and when it trembled in his hand, Jack steadied it and helped him bring it to his lips. “Thanks,” he murmured when he had managed to swallow some of the pale tea. “I feel so weak. Helpless.”

“It will come back, with time,” Jack assured him. “You’ve got to rebuild all that atrophied muscle fiber. It’ll take a few weeks before you’re back to normal.”

“Normal,” Ianto echoed, and emitted a weak puff of air that aspired to being a laugh. “I’m not sure that word applies to anything any more.” He slumped back against the pillows that were propping him upright. “So… what did you find when you opened the coffin?” He eyed Jack warily. “Or am I better off not asking about it?”

“No, it’s fine—no horror effects. That was a bit of a shock, actually; I wasn’t expecting you to be so well-preserved.” Ianto raised an eyebrow, and Jack added, “I mean, you were a little dried out. And really pale. But apart from that, you looked about like you do now.”

Ianto scowled. “Thanks.”

Jack rolled his eyes and leaned in to deliver a light kiss to his cheek. “You look fine, Ianto. If Martha hadn’t strictly forbidden me from raising your pulse rate above 80, I’d prove it to you.”

Ianto chuckled weakly at Jack’s lascivious eyebrow-waggle. “Well, since you can’t, go on and tell me the rest. How did I end up here?”

Jack sat back in his chair. “Even though your body was preserved, you weren’t alive when I found you. I called Martha, and she brought you here, to her home facility. She called in some UNIT colleagues, and they came up with treatments to make your organs and tissues more viable. Then I brought you back to life.”

“How? I didn’t think it was possible to raise the dead, even with alien technology.”

“It wasn’t alien technology. Well, not exactly. I mean, I’m technically of extraterrestrial origin…”

“ _Jack_.”

Jack smiled faintly. “I shared some of my life force with you. It’s complicated,” he sighed, as he watched Ianto struggle to put his myriad questions into words. “Basically, I transferred energy from the time vortex to you through my body.”

“You can bring people back to life?” Ianto sputtered.

“Not reliably, but it happens on very rare occasions, under the right circumstances. Your body had enough residual artron energy to make it work.”

“Artron energy?” Ianto echoed feebly. He desperately wanted the answers, but at present his brain felt as sluggish as his weak hands.

“A kind of energy from the time vortex. Time travelers pick it up. It can behave like a form of temporal shielding, and it helps you heal faster. That’s probably why your body stayed in such good condition despite being buried—there wasn’t enough energy to revive you, but there was enough to keep your body stable. Kind of like being locked in stasis.”

Ianto let this information percolate as he focused on lifting his mug of tea again. When he’d managed a few swallows, he braved another question. “Why was all this… artron energy in my body? Where did it come from?”

Jack remained silent for several minutes, until Ianto feared he would not answer at all. At last Jack set aside his tea and leaned forward. “It’s a long story, and I promise I’ll tell you the whole thing when you’re ready, but I think it may be too much for now. The quick summary is that there was a split in time—one timeline splintered into parallel time streams. In one of those timelines, you were injured, and we dosed you with artron energy to try to save you. Later, when we repaired the timeline, all that extra artron energy caused a glitch. Instead of merging seamlessly back into the original timeline, the version of you that absorbed the artron energy jumped into the timeline at the point the split originated, which was the same day I dug you up.” He leaned back and shrugged. “At least, that’s Sarah Jane’s theory. Mine was that when we opened the rift to try to stabilize the timeline, the artron energy somehow transfered to your other self, but I think I like hers better. But we don’t know for certain. We’re really just making educated guesses.”

“That was the quick summary?” Ianto closed his eyes. “I think you’re right; I’m not ready for the unabridged version.” He opened one eye to squint at Jack. “Who’s Sarah Jane?”

“A friend of a friend. Sort of a freelance alien incident responder. She’s anxious to meet you, actually. I mean, she’s seen you, but you were still dead at the time.”

Ianto groaned and tipped his head back against a pillow. “That sentence should horrify me, but for some reason it doesn’t. I have a feeling my life is going to be very complicated from now on.” He frowned. “Can I even say ‘my life’ when I’ve been dead for years? Am I classified as a zombie or something now?”

Jack carefully removed the mug from Ianto’s grasp and wrapped both hands in his own. “You are not a zombie,” he said sternly. “You are not undead. You are _alive_. Believe me, I know the difference.”

“I’ll bet you do, though I’m not sure I want to know how.”

“It’s part of that long story you aren’t ready for.”

“Wow. Something to look forward to, I suppose.” Ianto shook his head. “But I’m _properly_ alive, aren’t I? Not like Owen?”

“You are properly alive.” Jack looked down at their joined hands for a moment, his thumb tracing a methodical line across stark blue veins. A deep crease appeared between his brows.

“Jack?” Ianto tugged at his fingers. “Is something wrong?”

Jack shook himself and smiled, though the furrow in his brow didn’t disappear entirely. “No. Nothing’s wrong. Just…” He sighed and cupped Ianto’s hands between both of his. “Ianto, there’s something I want to tell you. I’ve wanted to say it for a long time, but something always got in the way, or the moment never seemed right… But I don’t want to make the same mistakes this time. I want to say it properly.”

Ianto’s breath stalled in his lungs, but he nodded for Jack to continue.

Jack swallowed and took a deep breath. “Ianto Jones, I…”

“Good morning!” Martha Jones sang as she swung into the room, carrying a syringe and a glass vial. “It’s time for your morning dose. How are you feeling, Ianto?”

Ianto held up a hand in a _stop_ signal, never taking his eyes from Jack. “Martha, step back outside for a minute, please. Jack needs to finish telling me something.”

“Um. Okay…” Martha hesitated, observing the tension between them, then glanced at the monitor beside Ianto’s bed. “Jack, remember what I told you about his heart rate? He’s not strong enough for a shock. If you’re telling him something really big, it might be best to…”

“It’s not a shock,” Ianto cut her off. “I just need to hear it. Please, Martha, just give us a moment.”

Her lips pursed for a moment before she nodded. “His pulse had better stay under 80, or I’m sending you out, Jack.” She set the medicine on the table near Ianto’s bed and turned toward the door. “You have exactly thirty seconds before I come back in.”

Ianto and Jack continued staring at each other as she left. The room fell silent, save for the hum of electronics and the persistent chirp of the monitor—and the faint chant of Martha counting seconds in the hallway. The absurdity of it struck them at the same time, and they both collapsed into laughter.

Ianto fell back against the pillows and tried to catch his breath. “Nothing is ever simple for us, is it?”

“Nope.” Jack scrubbed tears of mirth from his eyes, then took Ianto’s hands again. His grin was blinding. “Except for one thing—and if the earth opened up at my feet right now, I wouldn’t move until I’d said it.”

Ianto gazed into Jack’s sparkling blue eyes. “I’m listening, Jack.”

* * *

Martha had only counted twenty-two seconds when the heart monitor trilled a warning. She burst into the room, taking in the situation at a glance. “Jack!” she snapped, crossing to the monitor. “What do you call this? His pulse is up to 105. Stop it.”

Neither Jack nor Ianto answered; their lips were otherwise engaged, and they gave no indication of stopping. Martha cleared her throat loudly, and when that had no effect she seized one of the extra pillows on the bed and swung it hard into Jack’s shoulders. She could have sworn she saw Jack’s shoulders hitch in a silent laugh, but he didn’t break the kiss.

When they finally came up for air, the two men stayed close, hands framing faces, foreheads pressed together. Martha threw down the pillow and pointed to the door. “Jack, out,” she ordered. “I’m not letting you put my patient at risk for the sake of your hormones.”

“He’s not,” Ianto said dreamily.

Martha’s eyebrows arched. “Oh, and I suppose this is part of your new physical therapy regimen, then?”

“More like medication,” Jack put in. One of his hands slipped to the back of Ianto’s neck. “Increasing the dose of arton energy for faster healing.”

Ianto hummed in agreement. “No better prescription in the world,” he murmured. Jack grinned and darted forward for another kiss.

“None of that!” Martha snapped. She rounded the bed, seized Jack by the back of his collar and braces, and hauled him bodily off the bed. He squawked in surprise, but managed to find his feet in time to avoid a nasty tumble. “You can snog him when he’s fully recovered,” she added, shoving Jack toward the door and flinging his greatcoat after him. “Until then, you’ll just have to write postcards, like the old days.”

Jack sulked at her over the pile of gray wool in his arms. “We were just—”

“I’m aware of what you were doing. I _am_ a married woman, you know,” she added, fighting the urge to smile. It was hard to maintain her stern demeanor in the face of Jack’s wounded, almost childish petulance. “But when I say pulse under 80, I mean pulse under 80. Now _out_.”

Jack sighed and turned to go, but as he reached the door Ianto called him back. Martha frowned and prepared to step in again.

“I love you too, Jack,” Ianto said.

Martha saw the joy that irradiated Jack’s face at those words, and threw up her hands in defeat. After all, there probably wasn’t much harm in letting them have _one_ more kiss.


End file.
